


time is a tempestuous mistress

by shortcircuitify



Category: Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortcircuitify/pseuds/shortcircuitify
Summary: "The men of the lands far beyond here – they are foolish, blind. They think our long life runs through our veins, but it does not. It is this land that gives us such longevity, our devotion to the Hibiol which gives us more time on this earth."A tiny AU of what would happen if, as the Iorph adjust to living in the world of men, they lose their prolonged lifespan.





	time is a tempestuous mistress

The village of the Iorph was peaceful, if not a little lonely. Maquia knew this best of all, during long nights when there was nothing for her to do but weave or climb out the window of her small room and watch the stars pass overhead.

On one such night, Racine met her in the fields where the beautiful purple flowers slept, their petals curled in on themselves for perhaps an eternal slumber.

The elder ran her hand over Maquia’s cheek, her face and voice soft, “I will tell you a secret, Maquia, my sweet girl,” she said.

Maquia nodded her head, and Racine continued, “The men of the lands far beyond here – they are foolish, blind. They think our long life runs through our veins, but it does not,” she bent down, caressed the closed bud of one of the flowers, “It is this land that gives us such longevity, our devotion to the Hibiol which gives us more time on this earth. They too could learn to, perhaps, find such selfless rewards. But they are too vain, too impatient.”

Maquia sat a moment, before asking, quietly, “What happens to the Hibiol, if it is destroyed?” It felt like blasphemous ash against her tongue.

Racine turned her head to the heavens, “If you do not leave this village, you will not have to find out.”

~~~

Leilia screamed, cried, beat the man’s chest as he held her wrists together, dragging her away from her home, from her friends, from Krim.

“You _monster!”_ she cried, “Horrible, vile creature!”

He looked at her, her small stature, her vicious eyes, and loosened his grip on her wrists slightly. She struggled, but still could not release herself.

“It is a long way to Mazerte. Do not tire yourself so quickly,” replied Isol, steadily, although the girl unnerved him, made him hesitantly look to the Renato behind him to see if it had suddenly bent to her will, somehow.

She spit on him in response.

~~~

He notices, in the weeks to Mazerte, how she grows taller. Still shorter than him, but not so miniscule, how her eyes grow older, and not only from the burning of the Hibiol.

 _Bring her anyway,_ writes the King, and he bites his tongue so hard that blood seeps into his mouth.

~~~

It was not obvious to her at first, when Ariel was young and could barely speak or walk. But as time went on, in the little village of Helm on the coast of Mazerte, Maquia noticed the ever-forming lines on her face when she would wash Ariel in the stream by their home.

At night, in the light of the moon, she would watch herself in the calm water. Trace the new lines around her mouth, from laughing, or her forehead, from concentrating on the Hibiol that she still made, but that had no power in this land, had no grasp over her life.

She thought of Leilia, of Krim, of Racine, how their faces would look if they were old and wrinkly, if they were still alive, and her tears dropped into the water below her, silent tears that accentuated the tiny new lines around her eyes.

Mido teased her about it, raised her brow and pulled one of Maquia’s hairs until the younger woman could see it in front of her face.

“You have a gray hair,” she stated, and then, smiling, said, “You really are a mother now.”

Ariel squirmed in Maquia’s lap, pulled the hair until it ripped out, causing Maquia to gasp in pain, “You’re beautiful, mummy!” He said.

And, despite the growing ache in her heart, she laughed.

~~~

Maquia whistled, sang a tune that Deol had taught her when they went fishing together one day, her arms full of sheets to hang and dry.

“Looks like you’re doing well for yourself,” she jumped at the sudden voice, turned to see the half-Iorph walking alongside her, out of nowhere.

“Still afraid of ever-looming death approaching?” He asked, watching her intently.

She could not see it before in the moonlight, but now she saw the greys in his blonde beard, how he looked older without the disguise of shadows.

She looked back to the path in front of her, every step heavy, “Of course. How could I not?”

He hummed, “Your child,” she felt warmth in her stomach when he said _your,_ “Will grow, you know this, yes? It is only appropriate if his mother grows with him. No matter how slowly.”

“Slowly? I feel I have aged a hundred years.”

“The longer you are here, the more you will age,” he looked her over, “You still look like a weedy teenager, no older. But that will change.”

Maquia thought of this, “Anything for Ariel. If it will make Ariel happy, then it is worth it.”

He sighed, laughed, “Spoken like a true mother.”

~~~

“How horrible, to be caged, without being able to fly, emotions eating you from the inside out,” Leilia said, her voice monotone, eyes dead as she stared at the sleeping Renato.

Isol watched her as she approached the creature, her hand small and soft against its scaled head. It did not move, did not snap its jaws at her. There were so few left, and each one watched the Iorph girl intently whenever she was in the courtyard.

“I want to fly again,” she whispered, just enough for him to hear.

He took a deep breath, looked away from her searching eyes. She was tall enough now that the top of her head was just below his chin, fingers long and spindly, “I have tried talking to the King again, but – no matter,” he looked at her, then, “I want you to fly again, Leilia.”

An atonement, of sorts.

Her eyes lit up slightly, and she put her hand against the cold armor on his chest, “I believe you.”

~~~

Krim lit the pipe, smoke billowing up in her small living room as he relaxed into the chair. Maquia was fascinated – she had never seen Krim so tired, dark bags under his eyes. Or so bitter.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” she said, for the third time, and he smiled, although it was sad.

“You too, Maquia,” he ran his hand against her cheek, the freckles on her cheeks, “You’ve changed.”

She heard Ariel outside, giggling, playing with Lang and Deol. They were older now, old enough to help on the farm and wipe away her tears when she cried. Her hands were calloused from the farm and the old loom. She placed her hand on top of his, “You too.”

“Do you feel it?” He looked at his hand, pipe firmly in his mouth; he wondered at how they had never noticed before their own softness, the innocence held there.

“I do. More every day, I think,” she smiled a little, but kept it quiet, Krim solemn. She did, in all honesty, did not mind so much. Not with this life, with Ariel, with people she could now call friends.

“I’ve found Leilia,” Maquia looked up from her skirts, mouth agape, “She’s in Mezarte. The King plans to marry her off to his son. Use the Iorph just like the Renato,” he closed his eyes, pained, “They have no idea.”

“What will we do?” Maquia asked, voice certain, and at that, Krim smiled, although it was cold.

“We fight.”

~~~

The journey was long, and cold, but when Ariel smiled at her, his face filled with joy and excitement, she felt warmth bloom in her heart. And, she knew in that moment, that it was all worth it. That journey, she did not cry, and she would not, for a very long time.

~~~

Isol watched her hands work deftly on the loom that he had secreted away for her, in that small patch of courtyard no one dare enter. Where the Renato lived. Where the strange girl that was not supposed to age slept and ate and grew old.

“The parade is in a few hours,” he felt his heart beating deep in his chest. Her hair and koal were already prepared.

“It does not matter,” she closed her eyes as she worked the fabric, “All of them are gone. Taken from me.”

His chest ached, the armor too tight and sweat-slicked already. He approached her, kneeled before her form, bowed his head to her.

“I have a plan,” he whispered, the Renato by her side already stirring at his intrusion, “I hope you have enough trust in me to know I will carry it through.”

The loom stopped, and in response she cupped his chin, brought his face close to hers, and said, voice solemn, “I have no other choice.”

~~~

There were not many of them left, the children of the Clan of the Separate, but it was all they needed. Krim knew the Renato’s weak spot, and if he timed his attack just right –

But before the Iorphs could burst through the crowd the chains holding down the Renato with the prince were cut, horses neighing and screams bursting through the crowd as it spread its wings and flew high above the clouds, the prince falling with a sickening crack down to the ground below.

Leilia pushed the carriage door until it broke, slipping out of the ridiculous shoes forced on her, climbing up the back of her Renato. Isol stood below her, cutting the chains keeping the beast’s wings locked, his sword gleaming, forehead tight.

“Isol!” She called, “Come with me!” She reached out to him, saw the Iorph’s clambering to reach her in the wild crowd.

She choked, tears pouring unbidden down her face. She felt, then all the years coming down on her in that moment, that she was going to die, maybe today.

“You are free, fly, Leilia!” Isol said, eyes filled with sadness and longing, as he disappeared into crowd, fighting off rogue guards trying to get the Renato back under control.

She wailed, a long, low cry, and then Krim and the other few Iorph joined her on the scaled beast, one old and hardened, and he was hugging her close, his voice in her ear saying her name. She did not turn to him, only watched as the knight was lost in the jumble of people.

“Maquia!” Krim cried. Her legs were unmoving as she watched the scene unfold, Leilia and the armored man, Krim’s hard face as he turned to pull her onto the large creature.

“I can’t!” She cried, moving away from her friends, her old family, “My Ariel!”

Krim grit his teeth, before turning away, his face cold, flying the Renato away from Mezarte.

Maquia watched, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, before she promised that she would never cry – not for anything. Instead, she steeled her resolve, pushed her way into the crowd, finding the tall knight.

She pulled on his arm, and in the confusion, he let her pull him. On her tip toes she whispered to him, “I am a friend of Leilia. Come with me.”

Later, when they sat in the small room she had rented, Ariel sleeping on her lap, he asked in hushed whispers, “Why are you doing this? Helping me? I should –“

“You are dear to Leilia,” Maquia smiled, “And a friend of hers is a friend of mine.”

She felt old in that moment, so old, but a tired contentment settled in her bones. Isol sighed.

“We can’t stay here. There is a town – Dorail. We can lay low there for a while, all of us.”

Maquia pushed Ariel’s hair from his face, and smiled, small and sweet, “Wonderful.”

~~~

The land of the Iorph was burned, a husk of its old self, nothing left but the shell of the cathedral where the Hibiol were stored – now, all of them burned, gone with the power of the land. The springs were dry, the grass dry, the purple flowers which had blossomed once upon a time withered.

Krim looked upon the land, and turned to them, “It is not so bad. We can rebuild. Start the Hibiol again – the flowers with grow, the water will come –“

He continued, and Leilia looked around her, at the faces of the Iorph who had experienced the world outside of this place, how they stared disbelieving at Krin. They had all aged, she could see, and the magick of their old home was gone - gone with the Hibiol, gone with their absence.

She interrupted him, moving toward him, “Why stay in the husk of an old life, Krim? Why not start somewhere new?”

The older Iorph, the one with the sly smile, nodded his head, “How very forward thinking, your Majesty.”

Krim’s mouth was white with rage, his lips pulled taut against the skin of his jaw, “Then _leave, all of you!_ Leave this place if you so wish to see it burn!”

He turned, away from his former life, his former love, Leilia’s heart heavy and aching at who he had become, who the world made him be. He disappeared into the cathedral, gone. But she knew, too, that the world had changed her, and there was so much left to see.

She rubbed the small bump below her stomach, thought of men and their ways, and heard the small beat of life in her body. Mounting the Renato, her people at her side, they took wing to new places, away from the destruction of the old.

~~~

Age was catching up to her, Maquia knew. She was still young, spry and bubbly, but she also knew she was older than she had been all those years ago. She was a mother, a proper one, with little white hairs poking out of her head from stress, son moody as he came into his manhood.

And she was happy. Racine had warned her, all those years ago, that she would be lonely, but it had been harder in that small hut, all alone, with only her loom for company. The Hibiol still ran through her veins, as did time, now.

And as time went on, so did Ariel – surly now, embarrassed by his mother as any child would be, wishing to make a claim in the world – and Isol, quiet, never speaking unless necessary, working hard. Maquia imagined that, occasionally, she would see a Hibiol tied around his wrist, or around his neck, before he was off again, biding his time with hard labour.

And then there was Lang – beautiful Lang, his smile wide, tall with a stature unfamiliar to Maquia, her stomach flipping in a not entirely unpleasant way.

Her cheeks were warm as he gazed at her, “Look at you – all grown!”

He placed his palm against the top of her head, “And you seem so much smaller now, Maquia! It looks like we are about the same age now, no?”

She bit her lip.

~~~

The birth was painful, her daughter coming into the world on the desert sands of a distant land, but she was beautiful, _so_ beautiful, that Leilia cried. She had a mop of ashy hair, eyes serious as she cried, large gulps of air that came out in withering shrieks.

Their numbers had thinned over their travels – some Iorph finding homes in exotic lands, some finding love and deciding to stay behind – and Leilia knew that, in time, she would be the only one left, the Renato her only companion until he, too, would find his way to his own destiny.

But for now, she held her daughter, and she wept.

~~~

Maquia cried, when Ariel ran into the night – her one protector, hurting her more than anyone else ever could.

Lang was there, holding her close, wiping her tears away, chin resting on the top of her head. She cried long, and hard, and he did not stop her, does not say anything, just holds her.

“I have to –“ she choked, eyes puffy, “I have to find him.”

Lang frowned, brushed her hair from her face, “He’s a young man now, Maquia. As much as it hurts –“ she looked at him, her eyes heartbreaking and broken, and he sighed, “But I won’t stop you. With you and me looking, we can find him.”

She rubbed her eyes, surprised, “Lang, you’re a soldier –“

“Mazerte is falling,” he said, and shrugged, “And I would do anything for you, Maquia. Remember, moms don’t cry. It doesn’t suite you.”

His smile was melancholic, and she ran her hands over his shoulders, broad and secure. She thought of the countryside she found herself in when her home was destroyed, of him and Deol and Mido – my, she wondered how old the woman would be now! No doubt still looking as young as she once did, at least, Maquia hoped.

She thought of her son – of all his angst and hurt, his need for something new. And with the new ache in her heart next to the old, she put it all aside, for the best of her Ariel.

Perhaps, she could be a little bit selfish, too. She knew, in her heart, Ariel would always find her, when he needed her.

~~~

Maquia woke, another nightmare of something horrible happening to Ariel – his death, imprisonment, or some other conjuration of her mind, it was all the same now – making her heart beat erratically, her skin soaked in a cold sweat. She gasped for breath, tears tracking down her eyes.

And then she felt his arm around her, the warm summer Helm evening filtering through their open window, and she relaxed into him, his body warm, breath tickling the hairs on her neck.

She took a deep breath, turned in his embrace, and kissed his jaw, finding sleep easier than she had before.

~~~

Leilia sighed, the child on her back cooing and fidgeting in her sling. Old enough to talk, when it pleased her, and old enough to demand attention, when it pleased her. This forest was familiar, in some memory that seemed so distant to her now. But she knew it and felt in her heart that this was where she was meant to go, where she would perhaps find some peace.

She stroked the Renato’s head, and she felt its rumbling purr in reply.

“Thank you for your company,” she told him, “And now, please, find your way, for me.”

He brushed against her, lightly, his own farewell, before flapping his wings and soaring into the sky.

Leilia watched him go, but did not cry – mothers do not cry, after all – before making her way through the forest, towards a future unknown.

~~~

Time had taken a liking to Maquia, the power of the Hibiol and her homeland leaving her completely as the years rolled by. It had only been a few scant months since her return to Helm, and she fell into an easy rhythm of farming and looming and milking, but enjoying herself most of all – enjoying Lang as well, perhaps a little too much.

Isol had followed her to that small village, taking home in a cottage off the beaten path. He did not visit often, but when he did he forced himself to eat, drink, smile, but Maquia could feel the sadness rolling off of him, and she always left him with handfuls of goods when he left for the night to his lonely home.

The fall was warm, and she made her way to Mido’s house, arms full of Hibiol to decorate the coming season and trade. She hummed, a tune she had forgotten once but picked up again from Deol, before a shock of blonde hair tumbled at her, locking her in a tight hug.

Maquia would recognize her anywhere, and hugged back, dropping the heavy load in her arms as tears pricked at her eyes.

“ _Leilia,”_ a whisper, a prayer escaped her lips.

“I knew I would find you here, Maquia, I felt you on the wind! Your name whispered to me, from so far away!” She cried, exhaustion sweeping over her as the two embraced.

When Leilia pulled back, they stared at each other – both older, faces becoming a little wrinkled, and so changed, yet so much the same.

Maquia cupped Leilia’s face, hoping she was real, brushing back the few leaked tears from her cheeks, “Are you real? Are you here to stay?”

Leilia put her hand over her dear, lost friend’s, “I could never leave again, not ever.”

Maquia smiled, and then laughed, and in her amusement took Leilia’s hands in her own, pulling her toward the forest once against, a small wood house sitting on its very edge.

“Isol! Isol come here this instance!” She yelled, and Leilia froze, but did not back down and followed her friend willingly.

“Yes, Maquia?” The man said patiently, coming out of the door only to be frozen by the sight in front of him, voice caught in his throat, feet rooted to the ground like a tree.

She approached him, without any hesitation. And she kissed him, long and hard and full of need, both of them too old to blush from embarrassment, away from the realities of their past, “And the winds brought me back to you, too.”

At that, the little bundle on her back cooed in annoyance, and Isol blinked in confusion, and then hesitation, and something like awe came across his face. He pointed, dumbly, to the small girl, and then looking at Leilia, pointed at himself in question.

She nodded, eyes warm and smile wide, “Isol,” she almost whispered, “Meet Medmel.” She took his hand, pressed it against her cheek, “Thank you. You let us fly. But now we’re here to stay.”

~~~

Many years later, when Ariel was a young man, older than he was before in more ways than one, he returned to Helm. He stood there, in the armor of a distant land, nervous and shaking slightly. He knocked on the door that Dita, her face soft and welcoming, directed him to.

He stood, only a moment, before the door opened. They stared at each other, both somehow shocked at the other, and then, Ariel’s face crumpled, and Maquia, although she did not cry, took her son into her arms, and held him as he wept.

Mother’s do not cry, she reminded herself. She heard Lang rustling inside, leaving the two to themselves, and her heart bloomed as she held her Ariel again, her time limited only to the smiles he would give her, the times he would hug her.

“Mom,” he cried into her neck, and then, she knew, that time was a mistress that could be kind, and that was all Maquia needed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I haven't had the chance to edit it, but hope you enjoy! I will edit it ASAP


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